


The Things We Do

by castielsfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Caregiver, Dean Winchester - Freeform, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Romance, Fanfiction, Graceless Castiel, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, MOC - Freeform, Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, SPN - Freeform, Sick Castiel (Supernatural), Sick Character, Sickfic, Supernatural - Freeform, castiel - Freeform, hurt comfort, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsfeathers/pseuds/castielsfeathers
Summary: Tensions rise between an ill Castiel and a moc Dean as Dean struggles to understand why Castiel voluntarily gave up his grace in a time of high stakes.
Relationships: Destiel deancas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	The Things We Do

The night hung eerily quiet outside of the bunker as the occupants rested.  
Or at least, they tried to.  
For the third night in a row Castiel woke up in a cold sweat, limbs aching fiercely. Moaning quietly, he tried to sit up as he felt like he was nailed down to his bed once again.  
His eyes drifted over to the form in the corner of the room. The figure had jolted awake upon his moan, swiftly maneuvering in the dark to the angel's bedside.

"Cass, you need to tell me what's going on or so help me I will get the angels involved— and you know how I feel about them." 

This threat rolled off Dean's tongue strongly. In weeks prior Castiel had begun acting strange. Well, strange for him. He had been out on his own for awhile before simply showing up at the bunker, moving himself in with hardly an explanation while the brothers watched in confusion.  
As the days went on, they began catching him going about the bunker in odd functions. Sam caught him coming out of a steaming bathroom with damp locks, and Dean caught him hiding in his room quietly eating. Whenever they previously asked him what was going on, Castiel's weak excuse had been he missed those things from when he was human.

The excuse worked until he seemed to be getting sick these past few days, and Dean found him sleeping. 

As if to prove this, Castiel began coughing while he tried to argue against the angels being involved.

"No, Dean. They'll kill me. And they'll kill Sam trying to get to you."

It was the mark. The angels wanted Dean dead. But if the mark wouldn't let him die then they would kill anyone who got in their way of forcing Dean into surrender to their imprisonment.  
Hearing this returned threat, Dean felt the blood begin to boil in his arm. The man subconsciously reached to gently nurse the feeling away. 

"Then tell me what's going on. You're showering. Eating. Sleeping. Now it looks like you're sick." 

Heaving a sigh, Castiel looked at the shadow by his bed. In the pitch black room, he couldn't see Dean. He just wished he could see Dean; having used to be able to see in the dark.  
This feeling in his head and his chest, it wasn't like anything he knew before. It behaved like a raging storm, coursing through all he was and destroying everything in its path.  
The feeling intensified, and he leaned over the bed to vomit into the trash can. White knuckles clutched at the edge of the bed, this new, unpleasant experience filling him with fear.  
Gentle fingers on his back eased the tension, and he swiped the back of an unsteady hand across his mouth.  
This proved to be so overwhelming, so confusing. The amount of times he had seen the brothers throw up their guts from hangovers and illnesses were too many to count, and now he knew just how dreadful it felt.

"What's wrong with me..." he muttered this as he sat up, leaning back against the cluster of pillows on the bed. The bedside lamp switched on by the other's doing, leaving Castiel to wince at the sudden light. 

"You're sick, and I need to know how this happened." Maybe there was a hex bag. After motioning for the angel to wipe his mouth off better, Dean began to rummage around the room. 

"There's no hex bag." Castiel gave a guess. Heaving a quiet sigh, he watched him continue to root through his room anyway. Had he felt better he would have smiled in amusement at this. Dean, always so bullheaded and cautious. Castiel knew he just didn't want anymore weight on him then there was already; wondering if he had done enough. 

Dean finally stopped after he was satisfied he checked everywhere there could possibly be one, including carefully patting down the sweat-soaked angel. It had been a pitiful excuse to once more touch the celestial, though he would rather be caught dead than admit it. The green eyed hunter filled a glass of water at the sink, handing it to Castiel. 

"You want the taste out of your mouth, I'm sure." 

Reluctantly, Castiel took the glass in his trembling hands and sipped at it. 

"Thank you."

"Just tell me what's going on, I don't want to ask again."

Hesitating, Castiel stared down in the swirling water.

"I stripped out my grace."

Taken aback, Dean visibly recoiled as he processed this. No shit he had lost his grace, but he stripped it out on purpose? 

"You...what?!"

The mark on his arm pulsed and throbbed, and Dean didn't even try to rub it away this time. How stupid and selfish this was! When they needed Castiel's help the most, he goes and puts himself on the bench? 

"What were you thinking! We need you, Cass." 

What could even be his reason? It didn't matter. It was reckless and thoughtless and he was going to-

"Dean..."

This small whisper, it was something so vulnerable and quiet— much a contrast to Castiel's usual monotone.  
It instantly stopped Dean in his tracks, and he quickly realized he had begun to see red and tightly gripped at the collar of Castiel's buttoned shirt.  
Horror flooded through him. Sam was right. He was getting worse. Letting go, Dean gently patted the shirt back into place before sitting on the edge of the bed. He was careful not to jostle it too much, the last thing he needed was to make the other feel sick again. 

"Why did you do that?" His tone wasn't any softer, but the rage was more or less under control. He couldn't hurt his friend, he wouldn't. Castiel had done so much for him and his brother, he deserved a decent chance to explain before Dean went absolutely psychotic. 

"I can't tell you, Dean." Castiel spoke after moments of silence, lowering his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the disappointment from the other. Without his grace, he was blissfully unable to even feel it in the air around them. 

With this admittance, Dean stood from the bed. If anyone could be as stubborn as him, it was that damn angel. Feeling the rage bubble up again, he decided it would be best to remove himself from the room. Footfalls sounded as he headed for the door.

"Wait-" Castiel started, but the other man didn't falter as he walked out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys like this! I’m working on the next part and it should be up soon!


End file.
